


Heaven is a Machine

by cross_yourself_upon_entering



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Alternate Universe, And watch out for the tags, BUT BUT BUT THE FORMATTING ISN'T FUCKED UP SERIOUSLY IT'S FINE, Drabble, F/M, Fanart, Lenku, fairytale, honestly bro idk how to describe, miku is royalty and len is not, older story of mine, sometimes i wax poetical and sometimes its good, they might change - Freeform, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26118718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cross_yourself_upon_entering/pseuds/cross_yourself_upon_entering
Summary: Like clockwork, celestial bodies are trusted to move the way they always do, sun chasing the moon into darkness. The queen of the moon is supposed to perish at the sun king's request. But Len, a would-be assassin, and Miku, a painfully young queen, aren't actually willing to follow through with the plan......so they've run away. It's a crazy, impulsive decision, the kind that only frightened kids could make. Eventually they'll have to find out: have they truly escaped the beaten path of fate, or have they just taken the scenic route towards the executioner's block?
Relationships: Hatsune Miku/Kagamine Len
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	1. Moonlit Knight

The throne room is the biggest room of all - the emptiest, the coldest. Most servants have abandoned their position. Those that didn't, well, they paid for their loyalty.

Len storms across the marble floor with rage in his gait. He is the only one to enter the room as the cries of chaos continue behind him. His heart thunders beneath his armor. He tells himself it is pumping courage through his veins, the way his father had said, and the way his father before him had told them. The pain in all of his limbs is simply cowardice escaping his bones.

He steels himself as he plunges into the dark room, towards the one light that descends from the wide ceiling. It is heavenly and white. What a joke.

He sees a pile of decadent fabric on the throne, identifies it as the most wanted woman in the country, and announces her fate.

_Death to all who oppose the King of the Sun._

His voice cracks again when he says this. He has started growing up just this year, but as far as the General was concerned, every boy in his village was enough of a man to fight.

She peers at him from behind many layers of silk and cloth which cover her completely. Something is wrong.

Her smile is weak.

He can barely hear her respond. She doesn't shout.

Doesn't she hate him? He's sure of that. He's meant to hate her. His blood is white hot with generations of spite.

The enemy. The other. The dark side of the moon.

_We are the sun._

The gods cursed them. They loved us.

_We hate each other._

But he gazes up at the queen who is too young to be queen, a girl who is just a little too small for her imperial robes, and he finds that he does not hate those moonlit eyes.

The way her rosy lips form her words - the way her delicate hands gesture to him, spreading her arms with loving acceptance - the way she receives him is too gentle, too familial.

And how has he arrived in contrast?

She lowers her head, both to bow to him and to lower her throat towards the end of his scarlet sword. Teal hair drips from her crown and pools at the foot of her throne.

_The black edge of the pearly moon, they called her. The leader of darkness. Her dress is the color of stars._

She should not be a monarch, but her grace and calm are nothing short of royal training. He knows she is the real thing, but all he sees is a scapegoat. Her army may be lazy and easy to break, but the soldiers must all be twice her age. Twice _his_ age. The fight is _older_ than them.

The words that she has been speaking are now clear to him. "A quiet death," she begs, "a quick death. Please."

It's said like a script. Who wrote it, he can only guess. Her smile is cold with fear.

The storm of war crashes again, fervent cries scraping for the heavens. He has just left the outside. There is nowhere to step without crushing a man beneath your feet. This is what she fears.

"You shouldn't have been a queen," he quietly tells her, with the foul taste of pity in his mouth.

"You shouldn't have been a soldier," she answers, piercing his heart and draining the courage away.

He knows that she's right. They are drowning in their respective suits, too small to fill the shoes that had been left for them. His arms quake with effort as he keeps his blade close to her white throat. Her smile shivers with horror.

He readies himself for a horrible, messy death, because he cannot execute cleanly. He is not confident with his sword.

The eyes of turquoise watch him with terror, but oddly enough, a morbid trust, as if such faith in a stranger is fair in this world.

 _Her, the darkest corner of a well lit night_.

And him, a single ray of the golden sun. In his village, they had grown wheat and boys. Once the blood had been washed from the valley, they would sow new seeds. They would grow more boys. But what about the people of the moon? Will they even be remembered when he buries his weapon in their little queen's heart?

She reaches down and wipes his face with her soft white hands. He shudders, stunned by the gentle fingers that brush blood from his stinging brow. "Aim well, warrior." Her whisper tickles his ear, the one which he thought had gone deaf with the roar of canons. She smells of spring flowers and fresh water.

_Hated so deeply by the gods._

Her death so greatly desired by his King.

She begins to pull her hands back. He does not know why, but he grabs her wrist and leans close to her.

Not a trace of evil shines in her ethereal face.

She is confused more than alarmed. She obeys the pull of his arm, stepping down from the oversized throne. Her satin slippers are not made to walk. Without thinking, he unclasps the robe that sinks off of her shoulders instantly. It is incredibly heavy, decked in jewels that weigh more than a human head. Her dress beneath it is still modest.

He takes the silver crown away and tosses it aside.

"Let it go," he orders, "all of it."

Although bewildered, she understands. She peels away the many jewels that decorate her neck and hair, handing them to him, discarding the few rings that she wore in a puddle of red. One of these is a ring of promise, one that she keeps on her still. A dark laugh rumbles in his throat at the thought of her unlucky betrothed.

He grabs her hair. She is startled as he brings his sword against her shining tresses. Still, she says nothing. Soon her hair is merely shoulder length.

The royal glow is still present in her face. _She is meant to be queen._

Not in his eyes.

Len extends his hand, the calloused, bloody hand that threatened her life.

"If the queen is gone, can the girl live?"

Has she ever been called a girl? A human?

Her lip trembles as her eyes overflow. She begins to sob, her voice still silent when compared to the clash of metal and fire just outside. Standing in the wreckage of her former wealth, she somehow looks even smaller than he first believed.

He wraps her in his cloak, covering what is left of her alarming beauty. He takes her tightly by the hand, and for the rest of the night, he swears, he will not let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha bet u didn't expect the art but it's there!  
> I'm not half bad honestly! Only thing that stops me from doing more of this stuff is crippling insecurity and a fear of my irl acquaintances finding out that this is what I do with my downtime.  
> I'm considering doing an art piece for each chapter. we'll see how that goes!


	2. Sun-Soaked Queen

When the moon was high, he asked for her name.

She told him she was the dark edge of the moon, daughter of the midnight queen, granddaughter of stardust, sister of-

He said, "no. Your _name_." His eyes were so harsh.

The name was buried somewhere deep, nestled under years of tutoring and ceremonies and silk and sharp whispers of "Do it right! Stand properly or the maids will take a switch to you!" She told him she was Miku, even though she was unsure of her own answer. He squeezed her hand as if in approval.

He told her that he was Len.

He was a ray of the sun, according to the crest of his armor, but by his own account he was merely a boy from a farming village, taken to serve in place of his ailing father. He couldn't read very well. He liked fruit.

He told her that she was Miku from now on. If anyone should ask, she was a former lady's maid and he a simple farm boy from the same town. She wasn't sure that such a story would truly work, but he assured her that most people didn't know her face. She would simply have to lose the grace of royalty.

It would be easy, he believed, and he told her as much when they were slinking through the shadows of a ransacked palace.

There was so much screaming. Bodies splintered into nothing, crushed under a stampede of furious soldiers. Gory pulp. Wicked men. monstrous boys.

And she was dragging her heels to witness it all. Because she was under a sun cloak, everyone ignored her. It gave her ample time to witness the execution of vassals that she had known since childhood. They took swords through their bellies, and no cries for mercy left their mouths.

She watched as Gakupo Kamui knelt under an enemy's blade. He used to bring vegetables from the countryside. The robes that he had earned were in tatters, and his swollen face was hard to recognize. He glanced up by mere chance. Something glimmered in his eyes as he noticed his queen slipping out of the horror. He choked on a smile.

Len yanked her away before she could watch him die.

* * *

Here is something Miku rarely ever experienced for herself, least of all outside her own home:

Flesh _breaks_.

It cracks open like a shell, and blood charges through the wound. The color is stark on untouched skin. A shock of lightning runs up her arm. It's barely enough to make her let go of the wooden beam that has hurt her. She is more confused than afraid when her hand overflows with pain.

Len is very afraid, however. He rushes to her side and grabs her by the wrist, spitting foul curses under his breath. He calls her clumsy as he tears a long strip from the cloak. He calls her stupid.

And he calls her Miku.

It makes her insides buzz when the word glides across his tongue so casually. He acts as if she has only even been clumsy, stupid Miku, stumbling across the ruins of a town.

_Just as the moon chases the sun, she follows him blindly._

She has been saying his name to herself when he's not paying attention. _Len_ . He is gold and bright. _Len_ . He scowls when something makes him nervous. _Len_. His hands are warm and rough and steady, so long as he isn't wielding a sword.

He finishes tying the makeshift bandage, cutting off the scarlet flow. "Stop grabbing random things," he instructs, then he takes her other hand to lead her away from the busted wagon. They walk across shards of wood. Miku watches her step while the soldier watches their perimeter. They seem to be alone, if the broken corpses on the street don't count. They take tiny alleys and back roads to avoid the oppressive stench of death. Sometimes another figure passes by in the distance, never close enough to interact.

They've been walking for long enough that the blisters on her feet have gone numb. Even so, they're still very close to the palace, close enough that the smell of burning bodies is carried on the wind. Miku decides she can't be afraid, because someone else is already risking his life for her. She wants to know why, but at the same time she is afraid to ask.

Streaks of sunlight are smeared on the ground.

_Gold and Bright._

She should stay in her shadows.

"Len?" She murmurs, enjoying the name as she pronounces it.

He grunts in response.

"Where do you live?"

He thinks for a moment. "In a valley," He whispers, as if his mind has returned to his childhood home. She can see the fields reflected in his eyes, as well as the endless summer skies, and from the slight smile growing at the corner of his mouth, she knows that he longs for it.

"Is it sunny there?"

"Yes."

_Is it smiled upon by great, divine things?_

"Is it warm?"

"In the summer," he hums thoughtfully, "but our winters are very cold."

"Why?"

"Because our great-great-grandfathers angered the gods." His boots kick away bits of glitter, clearing a path for her more delicate shoes. She looks up and sees the remnants of stained glass windows in the temple walls. She also sees a ghost of a moon, still visible among the puny clouds. The moon that follows the sun so eagerly.

"What did they do?"

Len examines the temple's shattered door. There seems to be no one inside. They both instinctively think of offerings, gifts of precious food that people could have left behind in their panic. It's not likely, but they are eager to eat something. He answered her with little attention: "Our ancestors tricked the Sun into giving them fire. So the gods punished their insolence by giving them the kind of winter that kills."

It's strangely cold inside. She pulls the cloak tighter around herself, squeezes his hand. They can hear their own footsteps, which makes Len wary, but he doesn't stop as long as Miku stays behind him. Light climbs through the shattered glass. It makes everything look bright, burning with many colors. All the lamps have been taken, and the gold coins that usually litter the alters are conspicuously missing.

"I didn't know your gods punished you as much as they punish us," she says, her voice crumbling.

"Don't your gods do the same?" He turns back and inspects her with an expression that she has seen just enough times to identify as pity. She wonders if she would prefer being hated. her little shreds of pride mean nothing to him at all, which hurts more than anything. She's a queen. She's the horrible, elusive nemesis of the almighty Sun King, isn't she?

_She is a girl and she has nothing._

He is a ray of the sun with a home waiting for him. What does he want with her?

Len catches her tears with a gentle hand. His breath is warm, soothing, melting into her own. "It's alright," he says. "You're alive, Miku. Praise the gods that want you here." Day has nearly broken through the horizon, slanting across rooftops and sinking into the temple's atmosphere. He catches her chin and tilts her face up to ensure eye contact. Beautiful. He looks like pure gold in this morning glow, like Helios, like _fire_ , like— 

Miku removes herself. There's a small offering left on one altar - she lunges for it. The bottle is small and cool to the touch.

"Wine," she sucks in a breath. "Are you thirsty?" Her face feels like a flame. She keeps her head down as the tears subside.

There seems to be more. Len holds back the words that are eager to escape his mouth. He simply sits down in the sunshine, colored gorgeously by the flattering light, and watches her rip the cork from the container. She drinks with relief. Something sweet and cold after a nervous, deadly night, it makes her feel like she can survive a little while longer.

She extends her hand to him and he takes the bottle. He frowns when he realizes that it is mostly full. "Miku, come here."

She goes. Just like the moon following the sun.

He tries to make her take the glass vessel back. With her lack of interest in their only bit of food, he is bound to be worried about her health. But she doesn't want to take it and he is clearly thirsty, so he drinks with a pained look on his face.

Not all of it is his, though. He hands her the rest of the wine as he snaps at her, "come on now, act like you want to live!"

She wishes the alcohol were stronger. She wishes she wasn't stealing from a temple and defying cruel deities. She wishes her people's ugly deaths weren't weighing upon her. But wishes are for people who honor their holy lords, and she is soon to be a godless nobody. She collapses onto her savior with her arms round his neck, weeping bitter and selfish tears as the empty bottle rolls quietly on the floor.

She hiccups. "They've abandoned the people. I've—I have abandoned my—"

"Do you want to die with them?" He demands, with a steel grip on her shoulders.

She shakes her head, the shame welling up in her flushed face. She just wants to hide and fade away.

"Be scared of death. It's not your job to die here, just like it's not my job to slaughter you," he says, his voice weakening in a sudden spray of wind that smells like an apocalypse.

Len is hardly any older than her. His face is tinted with blood, but he is just a farm boy.

Miku remembers the weight of a crown on her head and guilt in her heart. Even so, she is only a girl.

That is everything she will believe from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art... it took the wind out of my sails this time. I feel awkward about it. It just looks clunky. But I worked hard on it, so I can't let it go to waste!


	3. Stolen Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't really have a plan.

Fire was a piece of the sun.

It had been swiped from its container, and so it danced wildly, clawing for the sky, screaming for its heavenly father to take it back.

We were never meant to have it, Len tells her, it was a piece of the heavens, and we stole it from the mountaintop. We who live on dirt like the beasts and the bugs, we who devour and invade and destroy each other. We love things that don't belong to us.

Miku leans toward the fire and enjoys the light. "We love that color, don't we?" Len asks her, and her heart feels like a fire of its own, yearning and squirming in her burning chest. She loves how he tells her these stories. He always says "we did this" or "we think that" and she can pretend that "we" includes her as well. She can ask him "why did we do this?" "what did we do next?" and he doesn't correct her.

Her new, scavenged clothes are still wet, but thanks to the fire that they sit next to, and Len's cloak, it isn't cold. She watches the little drops that cling to Len's hair. He has sneezed three times now. She hasn't said anything. Sometimes the silence is heavier, thicker than it should be. It made Len nervous, but after an hour he felt that it was natural, because of the rain. His voice dissolves the quiet. He speaks the same way he walks, as if treading on enemy territory. He isn't louder than the soft thud of rain against the roof. Somehow, though, he's all that Miku hears.

"We love that color," Miku answers, softly. The gold and the red that melt into one another. The hypnotic mixture of the two. Beautiful things are easy to want.

"There's a tree," Len says suddenly, "that bears fruit you don't have here. We earned that tree."

Miku's heart dims just a little. He drew the line now, the "you" and "we" have been pried apart. "What did you do?" she asks, recoiling from the heat.

For a moment Len doesn't say anything. The wailing winds outside push the house, make the wood groan.

"We killed our King."

"...why?"

"The gods asked us to. He was a tyrant and an idiot. I'm sure you've never heard that story."

"Where did you hear it?"

"From someone who's dead now," he sighs as he leans back on his elbows. "You'll hear things like that, too. Stories from people on their deathbeds. And you'll save them for someone else."

"You have so many stories."

"There are a lot of people on deathbeds."

Miku doesn't like his tone. It frightens her, how flat he sounds right now. "Then you should save some of them for that time of your life. Don't waste your breath in this place."

He looks at her then, his face stark and cold, but his eyes alive with the color of the sun. "It isn't wasted if we're still in danger," he reminds her.

She turns away, giving her back to the fire, and curls up underneath the cloak.

We love beautiful things, but the greatest gifts are the ugliest ones: the pain of life, the sting of a too-close hearth. The fear of death. Where would she be without his stories?

* * *

Although he has stared at the burning coals for half an hour, Len hasn't realized that the fire is collapsing into nothing. He's been thinking since the rain stopped. It's difficult to think. Even the occasional drop of water from the ceiling makes him flinch and press his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Do they think he's dead? They saw him.  _ Someone _ saw him go, surely. He was never sent home. His family won't know where he is. He might go back, but what would become of him if— 

_ Drip. _

It has grown even colder since Miku fell asleep. She hasn't shivered, so at least she can't feel it. He wishes there was more food in this house. He wishes she would complain more, at least to fill the gaps in their brief conversations. He wants her to share stories, too, but she doesn't say much without prompting and pestering. Every now and again he feels like she's a glass doll sitting in a glass case, and the bile rises in his throat, and he clenches his teeth. Those moments where she won't say anything—it's like the afternoon sky without that ghost of a moon, so empty, so lonely— 

_ Drip. _

His hand flickers over his sword until the silence floods back into the room. They haven't been seen yet. Well, they haven't seen anyone looking. He's kept watch. He'll sleep a bit later.

For the first time in a while, Miku stirs. Her eyes open without much ceremony. She looks at the door first, then she looks at Len, then she releases the breath he didn't know she was holding.

"Daybreak is coming soon," he assures her.

"Were you waiting?"

"I didn't want to sleep."

She sits up, rubs her eyes. Breathes again. That soft noise is audible again. It makes Len feel better.

"What do we do now?"

"We're not out of the city walls yet."

"But, when we leave, what do we do?"

"Take refuge," he surmises, "it can't be that hard. The neighboring country is very sympathetic to the Moon Kingdom."

She crosses the distance between them, sliding over to his side. "Then what will we do?"

Len swallows. "Well, we'll know."

The warmth of her hand spreads on his.

"I remembered something good," she says, her eyes imploring. He waits patiently for her to continue.

"There's a story about a bird that sings so sweetly, he brings life to dead trees. His feathers are so beautiful that they restore vision to the blind. Do you know where he lives?"

Len doesn't know.

"At the very edge of the world. Just beyond a cliff that faces the Eastern sea. I want to hear him sing."

_ Is that what you want? _

"Are you sure he's there?"

"I'm sure we'll hear beautiful things."

She already knows it's "we" because of course he's going with her. Of course he believes her. There are no lies that could pass her lips because she is an innocent girl. A human, yes, but such a new addition to the human race that she is blameless.

At any rate, the future is as certain as the distant past. Each is obscured, dressed in layers of cryptic prophecy or dust.

They leave soon after they make the decision. The little village, glossed with rain, is so hollow that Len cannot help but fear every shadow that gnaws at the edge of his vision. It's not right. Overturned carts, empty windows, a dropped basket of apples that sprouts with flies. Not right at all. Did the villagers leave before or after the swarm of soldiers? Would anyone else come?

The pressure of a soundless atmosphere has finally caught up with Miku, who trails close behind the boy.

"It's strange," she says, looking at nothing in particular. "How do you feel, Len?"

"The way you feel." Tired. Hungry. Anxious.

"Oh! Good," she murmurs. And upon the pressing look which he gives her she adds, "neither of us feel lonely."

He takes in the sight of her, hazy eyes set in a soft, fair face, and a delicate mouth that carries words like an evening breeze carries the sweet breath of spring flowers. She smiles at him, as if he's said something witty or beautiful. He's tempted to touch the graceful curve of her cheek. The weight of her hand in his is suddenly not enough.

He faces forward and asks her, in a fumbling but stubborn sort of way, if she minds being in the constant presence of a male. He's half afraid that she will let go. She never does. What comes instead is a sigh that he could swear he feels on the back of his neck, something which causes him to jump slightly.

She blinks. "If the company of men was repulsive to me, how would I ever get to marry?"

_ Innocent girl. _

He wishes he could press further - explain that their companionship might look strange, even inappropriate to outsiders - but he really shouldn't. No good would come of embarrassing her again.

"Is that still an ambition of yours? Marriage?"He can't resist the urge to ask. His mind flickers back to the engagement ring bundled together with the rest of her jewels. For some reason it nauseates him.

He can't tell if the color in her cheeks is due to exertion or girlish insecurity. After a quiet moment, Miku nods at him, her fingers curling around his just the slightest bit tighter.

"And you?" she whispers.

Len does think he'll marry in the future. It's normal to want a family. He likes the idea of having land of his own, and raising crops with his wife and children; a very  _ intangible _ future, considering his treason— his stomach drops when he remembers that word—but nonetheless one that makes him smile.

"That suits you. You'll be a lovely farmer, I suppose." Her voice strikes a chord of sadness, somehow. It's a little disheartening.

"Tell me your dream, then. After we hear the most beautiful bird, what do you want to do?"

When she has no dream to confess, Len chides her for her lack of drive. "Why sleep at night, if you don't dream?" he reasons.

"It's not that I don't," she insists, anxiety creeping under her voice. "None of my aspirations are as solid as yours." A pinkish halo is rising from the east, brightening their silhouettes as they descend the hill of gray-blue grass. A certain smell has risen from the ground, a rich and earthy one.

Len helps the girl cross over a bank of mud. "That isn't the point of it, though. Don't limit yourself to reality."

To this she says nothing. Her freshly cut hair is somehow vibrant, even under the thick lights of dawn. Len considers her the most impossible creature he has ever laid eyes upon. If she exists, there are other fantastic things that could happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I couldn't manage art for this chapter, not this time around! I have half a mind to come back and add some at a later date since I'm still kinda doing art for chapter five (which is already written at this point in time).


	4. Gloaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are a little rough, but complaining about it does no good

They walk for a very long time, stuck in air so hot and thick and suffocating it might as well be blood. Miku is close to fainting and Len is too tired to observe his own suffering most of the time. But not too tired to be wary of the slightest movements in the trees at night. 

He thinks she hasn't noticed his fear of falling asleep. No matter how many times she offers to take watch in his stead, he refuses. He's the first to rise, the last to sleep. It still doesn't protect his secret. More than once she has woken up to him gasping, shivering, eyes swimming with tears that he reigns in with the flimsiest whispers, "it's okay, you're  _ fine _ ." 

Miku hesitates to talk to him at all, because he's very snappy. She knows it isn't personal...then again, she's the reason they're here. 

_ He's dimming. _

They both are.

It's quite disheartening when they realize how lucky they are to eat anything at all. A smattering of berries is hidden safely in bushes that couldn't be reached by the others who came before them.

Yes,  _ others _ . Even though they went such a long way in the hopes of avoiding others from the now fallen kingdom, they noticed the little signs. Ash from fires, scraps of cloth, splintered branches that had been stripped of all their best fruits. (Miku thinks there might have been a body or two that Len steered her away from.) 

A lot of what remains is awfully sour or bitter, but these little nuts and berries and the occasional root are the best they can do. 

Hunting, of course, would be great, but Len is too antsy to stay in the same place for long enough to catch something worthwhile. Miku is also too squeamish to prepare little carcasses for eating, so she hardly has the right to complain. 

They've had a bird or two, the most flavorless, bony things she's ever eaten. She thinks back to the winter solstice two years ago and the perfectly cooked pig that had graced her table, how it melted off bone, glistening and rich. How a lady had spat it out and cursed the chef's children for what she called a poisonous flavor, and all the guests had agreed. Miku had nodded, too, though she can't believe that she agreed to that claim.

The roar of her stomach extracts her from the memory. Food is so  _ hard  _ to get, and yet it always appeared like magic before her at the smallest request. 

When she mentions it to Len, he shoots her a sharp look. "If you want a hog so bad, you're welcome to go west and slaughter one yourself."

Yes. She's spoiled. She's hoping for too much.

_ Barely a glow in him anymore. _

Should she keep it to herself? __

_ The sun owes you no light. _

On a devilishly hot day, they pause at a stream because they absolutely have to, and there they get lucky once again. The water is sparkling and swollen with life, swaying green plants and small, darting shapes.

He brightens as he realizes these fish are a familiar kind. "These are easy to catch."

"Easy for a beginner?" She asks.

So he invites her to try, guiding her at every point with more patience than he's had in the past week. Miku learns to catch little fish with little tools. It's hard for noble hands to adjust to the job. She does her best, only falling in the water twice. 

When it seems like he wants to yell, he opts to make fun of her. She can't bring herself to be mad. How did she not realize until this moment, what a beautiful laugh he has? Full and rich, as if she's the most delightful joke he's ever heard.

They're soaked through by the day's end, but they get to eat something hot and not sour, so it's hard to care about it until the sky becomes absolutely black.

* * *

Len hasn't told her a story in five days. He's too tense to say anything greater than a dozen words before his eyes creep back into the void of the forest. He wants to be absolutely safe, and the only thing he can think to do is keep vigilant.

No sights. So much noise.

Crackling, shifting, how the night comes  _ alive,  _ he despises it. His jaw aches from clenching. 

_ The moon is impossible to see. _

At the very least, it isn't bitterly cold. Miku is curled up on the cloak like a little cat, admiring the flecks of fire that dance in smoke. Her voice comes as a long-lost friend to his straining ears.

"There's a trickster spirit," she says, though he doesn't look at her. "A fox as white as snow. I'd tell you his name, but his attention is a gift you'd wish to return. His favorite meal is human flesh, and he's fooled people many times. His preferred trap is the use of slippery words."

He releases the clammy handle of his sword. "Slippery words, hm." White hair was awfully common in the moon kingdom, apparently. White and blue colors. He'd seen plenty of people like that when marching through the city.

_ Sunlight slicing through the night. _

He grinds his teeth nearly to dust when he remembers how he breached the city's walls.

_ What your king wished. _

A smile lingers in her words. "Once, a long, long time ago, a desperate girl named Ann cried out for help at the edge of the forest on a very dark night. 'Spirits, help me, please! I need help, come quickly!' Then, the fox spirit showed up when the clouds parted, and the moonlight glowed on his white figure. 'Are you lost?' Said he. 'No,' She told him, 'I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.'

"You see, her husband whom she loved more than life itself was terribly sick, coughing up blood every day and bile every night. He looked already dead, save for his weak cries for help. Ann knew she needed a cure by morning, but her and her husband were poor. So she was turning to the spirits for assistance now.

"The fox spirit told her, 'Lucky you, little girl! I promise I can make your ill husband healthy for the rest of his life with no side effects or painful procedures. In exchange, you will turn the corpse over to me in the end. I prefer the body fresh, so call me quickly on the day of his death.'"

She toys with her little silver ring of promise, likely finding comfort in its smooth round shape. Len feels a twinge of annoyance at the sight.

"Ann accepted his terms, and a single drop of the fox's pungent blood in her hands. It burned like fire and cooked her palms. She ran home for the entire night, through brambles, past bears, spurred by love and devotion. Every inch of her was torn, but she ran, and ran, and ran.

"It was almost dawn by the time she returned to her home, but thankfully her husband was still living when she came back. The blood had cooled in her hands and now felt warm, like the caress of a lover. It smelled of rose water. She gave it to her husband. 

"As she'd been told, a mere drop of the fox's blood made the light return to her husband's eyes. The color bloomed in his cheeks. He no longer trembled and coughed. Indeed, he was the healthiest man she'd ever seen. He was disease free, feeling no pain as he got out of bed for the first time. They embraced like they'd spent years apart. Ann could feel his heart, perfect and strong…"

_ He's holding his breath. _

He can't help it.

"...giving three steady beats before it stopped."

"The fox," he mumbles. He'd curse him if he could.

"Ann caught his lifeless body and screamed for the fox spirit, terrified and teary-eyed. He came from the shadowy corner of her home. 'Thank you for the meal,' he says, reaching for the still-warm corpse of her beloved.

"'Murderer!' She cried. 'Thief, liar! You promised to make him healthy!' The fox replied, 'from the moment he drank my blood to the moment he last drew breath, this man was strong, not sick, not suffering. I kept my promise. Now I come to collect, as we agreed, so mind your tongue, foolish girl.'"

"So the fox took her husband, and disappeared, leaving Ann in an empty home, with an empty heart."

"Then what?" Len demands. He barely notices how he's leaning forward, tangled in the story that she has woven. 

"She cries," Miku answers.

"Then?"

She looks up at him, eyes so pure, so wide. "I don't know what happens after she cries. I never read that far."

His eye twitches. "You told me a story you don't have an ending for?"

"We could ask the spirit himself," she suggests innocently.

He chucks a pebble at her shoulder. "You little rat. Go to bed."

Obediently she closes her eyes, lips curling around uncontainable giggles. Even when she stops, slipping into what looks to be the most tender dream, he can't tear his eyes away from that girl.

_ Why would he want to? _

Maybe for the flicker of light in the corner of his vision.

His blood halts in his veins. Light? No, there's nothing. It's an abyss out there. 

Nothing. Nothing.

_ Nothing. _

His head turns back to face more  _ nothing _ . The fire is dead. His worn out cloak is very conspicuously void of any sleeping girls. 

" _ Miku _ !" He bolts up, hand tight in his sword. "Miku, where—"

His answer is a piercing wail from the deep darkness.

He dashes in, nearly stumbling over every minor root. "Miku! I'm coming! Stay where you are!"

White bleeds through the trees. Why he follows the glow, he doesn't know. Only a gut feeling—a truly terrible feeling— urges him to keep going. 

It's a clearing. A vast empty space drenched in moonlight. Right in front of him, is a ghostly figure.

Len can't breathe.

Green and blue. 

_ Those mismatched eyes are awfully familiar. _

Bloody red smile. 

_ What had he done? _

A whisper. So familiar and yet so twisted, a cruel little noise that comes right behind his left ear:

_ You shouldn't have been a soldier. _

Someone is screaming. They won't stop. It's as if they can't run out of air, which Len is jealous of, because his lungs feel like they're being squeezed.

_ "Len." _

His wrists are caught in someone's smaller, weaker grip. Miku's lovely face is poisoned by fear. But she's not yelling at him.

_ Oh, it's him shrieking his head off _ . Like magic, the realization frees him to suck in an enormous breath. His throat burns.

"Len," she whispers, gently releasing him. "You were just dreaming. You started shouting in your sleep." 

"Did I," he swallows, "I—I fell asleep?" The forest around him has brightened to a cool green with patches of gold in the canopy. Birds chirp and coo overhead. Cold sweat and morning dew make him shiver.

She smiles sympathetically. "It's alright. I took watch."

"You should've woken me up."

"You were tired, Len. You need to sleep, sometimes."

"I could've powered through it, unlike you. Always thinking about food when you can't even..."

_ Ah _ . He bites his tongue hard enough that he tastes salt.  _ Control your temper. _ He's angry, but not at her, so he shouldn't blame her. In fact, he's glad she's here.

He's glad it's her with him right now.

_ A most unnatural companion. _

Yet their hands fit together so perfectly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

She only nods. "I'll go get some water. Can you get ready to leave?"

"Yeah." He makes sure to breathe again, deep and long. "Yeah, I'll do that."

He's glad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I am s t r u g g l i n g with art at the moment


	5. Shivering Dawn

Miku has become very good at several critical things: spotting edible plants, walking for hours, and teasing stories out of Len.

For every two tales, she gives him one in return. It's not a great deal, but she talks like a book come to life, with fancy words he barely understands, and her voice is it's own charming thing. So he says anything and everything while they walk, just about.

It's really a very sneaky tactic. He doesn't notice for the longest time that she's trying to keep his mind busy, holding his attention so he hasn't the time to be anxious.

_ But honestly, what do you expect from the dark part of the moon if not clever tricks like that? _

He has years to recount.  _ Soon _ , he thinks,  _ it'll be as if we grew up side by side _ .

Almost like having a twin again.

"I didn't know you had a sister," she says quietly, damming the river of words that's been spilling from Len's lips.

He loses track of his story— something innocuous pulled from the depths of childhood—and sinks into a different memory. When last he saw Rin's face, pale and thin, not scraped and tanned by a summer's worth of outdoor activity like his was. But the grave blue eyes swelling with tears, those were just like his. 

He can't remember what she said to him then. No, at that time he couldn't have heard a sound. 

Never mind that, though.

Len picks up a y-shaped stick and gives it a thorough inspection. "I did," he replies.

"You  _ did? _ "

"Yup." He flings the stick into a bush in the distance. Something, likely a rabbit, scampers away.

Miku thinks for a minute in perfect silence before saying, "I had a sister."

Ah. Another thing they share that he wishes they didn't. "You _ had... _ "

"Sonika. She was much older than me. We had different fathers, and I only spoke to her a few times...and yet, I felt like something had been stolen from me when we buried her."

This is more information about her family than she's ever volunteered. He doesn't even know what to do with it, now that he has it.

So he just murmurs, "I've never heard of a princess Sonika of the moon kingdom."  _ Or a princess Miku, for that matter. _

"That's the nature of our court now. If we aren't crowned, we're irrelevant." She doesn't sound sad. She merely wrinkles her nose when she tells him, "Though I hope I'll be forgotten, too. Our mother's reign was the second longest in history and mine was the shortest. It's very embarrassing." 

_ Is that how it is? _

The royal family was blessed with a daughter like this one and they were content to ignore her, forget her—until everything erupted into  _ chaos, _ and all relevant figures of her court were dead or cowardly.  _ Then _ they decided to leave her like an offering, wrapped in silk and glittering jewelry.

They absolutely meant to forget her.

_ The tiniest mark on the world that would've been washed away by one bloody night. _

And he would've been the perfect means to that end.

"I'm sorry," he says.

She blinks. "What are you sorry for?"

He hates the ever-so-innocent look she gives him, how trusting it is. "That I was going to kill you."

She beams, and now he just hates himself. "But you didn't."

The path beneath their feet went on in spite of them, and opened up to the rest of the world.

They see it soon enough. Fields. Farms. A speck of a city in the distance, fuzzy with mist.

Civilization and new threats.

A familiar sense of doom wraps itself around him, squeezing his throat.

It feels more dangerous, somehow, the idea of moving forward. He almost forgot what they were running from, and now it's so  _ obvious _ , glaring like the  _ sun— _

_ People still want us dead. _

How convenient that the fear of reality strikes right now. He would laugh if he could bring himself to breathe.

"Len?"

Why is he becoming so weak? Why now, when there's no immediate danger? Why does his heart feel like it's going to explode?

_ Do we give it up? _

But he wants to live so badly. He wants Miku to live. They can't do that if they might be caught.

He can't, he can't,  _ he can't _ bring himself to loose his grip on that weapon, no matter how much he hates it, no matter how damning it could be. He can't. He can't.

He can't head forward— 

Once again it's the soft hands that return him to the present, coaxing the weapon down. Len sees nothing except Miku's face, the weight of concern on her perfect brow and her lips weaving around soft words. "Come with me. We should go now."

"I can't," he says, breath hitching. "I just…"

She continues her attempts to comfort him, smile soaked in sympathy. "I understand, I do. I'm afraid too. But it's like you said: we need to act like we want to live." She's sincere, and he knows it.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's not, Miku, it's not, I'm a traitor, I—I-I can't—" 

_ Who knows what they'll do to traitors. _

A beat. She struggles to say something. "Can you just...breathe for a minute?"

He follows her instructions. In and out, carefully, waiting for the tunnel vision to fade.

"...I know we were supposed to abandon these notions, so I'm sorry...but I have to turn back one last time. For my final act as Queen."

She gently takes the sword from him, bidding that he kneel.

If she has the momentum she can hack his throat open right then and there. And why shouldn't she? Why not place the blame of an empire on a guilty soldier and kill him for catharsis? Len has  _ been _ on the other end of that sword before, knows the bitter magic that propels it. He flinches, eyes squeezing shut at the vision of blood.

No blow comes.

"Len." His eyes crack open. 

He can't believe it. Standing high above him, poised like someone greater than the sun itself, is the Queen of the Moon with a young, bluish dawn standing behind her. He doesn't see the stolen clothes or the admittedly poorly cut bob. He only sees a ruler that  _ deigns _ to look upon him with benevolence.

He doesn't understand what about this gesture is so... _ warming,  _ but it is. A tap with a blade so careful over each shoulder, and a murmuring of ceremonial words. An accolade.

Instantly, he knows they don't do this in the kingdom of the moon, because she does it wrong, and because she proclaims his knighthood in such theatric terms, as one would in a play: "arise, Sir Len of the golden valley, Knight of the Queen of the Moon."

So stupid and wonderful.

He rises. The queenly airs falter. "I've always wanted to do that," she says, almost squealing from delight, bouncing on her toes. But then she regains her composure with a cough. "Ah— but more importantly, it's something you deserve. You spared my life, and you kept me safe. You're a good person that's capable of a lot, so...if you call yourself a traitor, it's an insult to me."

He can't forget the people who would disagree with that remark— that he could be considered good.

But hearing it from Miku gives it some veracity. He takes a deep breath as he reminds himself of his priorities. He should be strong for the both of them, not forcing her to lift him out of every pit of despair. 

"...It's probably no good to take this with us," she adds, gazing at the sword in her hands. 

"What else do we do with it?"

"Bury it, maybe."

"It's not that easy," he says. "Someone can find it."

"We'll be gone long before then." 

There's not really a better plan than this.

So they take the time to shovel out a grave together, and stab the blade deep into the ground, pushing with all their weight so that it's stuck there. They disturb a lot of bugs this way.

Finally, Miku packs dirt firmly over the hole, as if she could crush the sword and its history with enough force.

They step away with blackened hands. Thinking.

"We can't speak about this again."

"I understand."

"You're not royalty."

"No, I'm not. And you've never touched a sword in your life."

"We're just..."

"...heading east. Looking for someone we might know."

Only two people. Len and Miku. Simple as that.

The fields are quite a long way off, but it's not so bad. At least they're in view.

A single step is all it takes for him to feel the earth, the way it doesn't disappear beneath him. One step.

Surely the rest will stay intact too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably the first time they've truly touched earth in the story. Like, gloaming was miku's "ah shit we are not coming out of this unscathed" moment but shivering dawn is Len's "ah shit we're surrounded by death and we're only alive by chance" moment.


	6. Aether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: There Was Only One Bed

_How strange that they're still so alone in such a big town._

There aren't soldiers here, but the territory is still unwelcoming. It's quiet and dull. The shopkeep glances at Len and Miku constantly.

He _knows_ they're foreigners, but hasn't done anything about their presence just yet. It's hard to tell why that is.

Maybe he'd rather not make a fuss…? Then again, there's only one other patron, a bony old man at the other farthest corner. He keeps entirely to himself.

Len's head is pounding. He's noticed that dusty shopkeep looking at Miku three times now, and each time it almost makes him reach for a weapon that's no longer there. So he makes a point to glare at the map they bought on the table, and the coins. Doing the math in his head, stumbling a bit. He feels foggy, and his mouth is like cotton. Maybe it's the bad weather and gloom, but somehow everything is a little hard to see. 

There's no way they can really stretch this measly handful of money out to last the whole journey, can they? They pawned pieces, little portions of jewelry that seemed reasonable for people like them to have, but it didn't amount to much. _If we want to cut the cost of food, we might just have to eat rats and birds..._

He glances out the rain-splattered window, seeing a little figure huddling against a crate with a cloak thrown over their head.

_...but there might not be enough for all of us in this town._

Come to think of it, it's a little irresponsible to be counting money in a public place. His brain is _deep-fried,_ apparently.

"What are we doing next?"

Miku asks him, leaning on his shoulder to see the map. She's warm and bright with candle light, bundled up in the thickest clothes they have in their possession, silky hair tied back with a piece of string. He's so cold he's almost tempted to sink into her.

Of course, he pulls away. "It's not looking good," he mumbles, wincing at how _dry_ his throat is. "If we hired a coach, we might get to Kasane Village in a week instead of two. But that's way too..." He forgets the word. _Tedious?_ _Expensive?_

"Really? Let me see." She leans close and, again, he leans away, further from the candle's delicate range. She assesses the map, tracing the route with her slender finger. "We walked this far in three days. If the weather is good, we could make it to the next town over in half that time, and hire a coach to pass through these woods, and then walk the rest of the way to Kasane. Since it's a busy place in need of workers, we could find work. The coach is pretty pricey, but…"

She goes through her calculations at a speed that frankly baffles him. He can't catch any of the numbers she's listing, or their meaning. Something about distance and another thing about time, maybe asking someone about directions. He's sorry he can't understand it all. "And if you're worried about _food_ ," she says, "I think we can…"

He jumps when a hand lands on his. It's her hand, but he didn't realize she had moved so fast. He hits the side of his head on the wall. Coins drop hard on the table and roll around.

"Hey, I just wanted to count it again." Her brow furrows. He looks anywhere that isn't her glowing, lovely face. Because he just doesn't want to, of course, not because he's embarrassed or she might tell him something he's dreading.

Then she says, "I think you have a fever."

Those damning words. That nervous tone.

"I can't be sick," he groans into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut to block out every drop of light that might find it's way in.

"But you're all red, Len. And you sound hoarse."

"That's barely anything."

He's startled by the painful creak of her chair next to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Let's go back to the pawnshop. If we have a little extra money, we can stay at the inn down the street."

"We _can't_." The precious few gems they have left are supposed to carry them through something way more daunting than a little sickness.

"I know you want to be cautious, but I don't think traveling while you're sick is the safe idea you think it is."

"Spending this much money in one place isn't exactly the winning move either."

"It's really not that much! It's better to have you well-rested and healthy than to make the whole trip while you're sneezing and miserable."

"I've had to work through illness before, Miku. Anyone can survive a cold." Hopefully. People in his family didn't have an excellent track record when it came to disease.

_Knock, knock._

Maybe it's some kind of hallucination when he hears those gentle knocks on the front door? The rain is harsh and easy to mishear. But she perks up, too, at the sound.

The door opens, and there stands a drenched young lady, barely older than Miku herself. She has hair like the ocean and the eyes of a dead fish, white and haunted, and long, puffy claw marks all over her stick-thin arms. Her mouth hangs open, empty of words, like her mind can't find anything worth speaking.

Len's heart falls into his stomach.

The shopkeep speaks like a thunder, stomping out from behind the counter. _"Out! Out!_ Gods, must every little wretch come crawling in here? Do I need to put up a sign? I won't let you vermin steal from me again!"

It was hard to see through all the broken thread and dirt, but the sash on that woman was blue and white in romantic swirls: typical of the Moon Kingdom.

The realization is like a blow to the face. "The closest part of the Moon Kingdom is weeks away on foot—" Miku whispers.

"Quiet," Len tells her, squeezing her hand so tight he's bound to leave little crescents imprinted on her skin.

The shopkeep shoves the ragged girl out the door. He shouts some extra abuses, such dreadful things that were too poisonous to even think, let alone speak. Then he closes the door, huffing. Just his breath and the constant drum of rain against the building. Guarding that door like a foul little dragon.

_Don't look at him. Don't look._

Everyone is wound up tight. Undoubtedly, their hearts are pounding.

"Maybe," Len stammers, "err, we can…"

A drop hits the map and blurs the _Ka_ in _Kasane._ Then another lands beside it.

What can he do?

"Come on." He starts to pick up their money and their map. "Let's…check the _price_ together, okay?" 

Gripping his hand, she drags his body up from the chair, and through the rain, which makes him feel even heavier and colder. _If she hadn't pointed it out_ , he thought bitterly, _I could ignore it_. A lie, of course, but the reality is uncomfortably heavy on him. He feels so stupid for getting sick when they're so desperate.

 _And alone out here_.

They look, but they don't find the white-eyed woman behind any corner. She isn't hiding between buildings or under an awning or in a tree. There is no trace of her in the darkening street. They don't even have a name to call, and that's the salt in the wound. The _futility_. 

_It's not as if we can feel bad for every single person in this situation. We have to prioritize ourselves_ . _We should keep our mouths shut to be safe._ Or something to that effect. He wants to say it with his chest, but somehow, he feels like a coward looking for any new excuse.

It can't be helped, he knows. Every tragic thing is harder to ignore when it has such a pitiful face. That's why Miku is alive, why _the person with the mismatched eyes_ continues to lurk in his worst nightmares. He has to fix some part of this or else it'll keep gnawing at him.

Miku is sniffling, flushed red. Len can't tell if it's tears or if she's caught whatever chill he has, but either way the noise is insufferable.

"I'm sorry," She hiccups. Her voice makes the dull pain in his head all sharp. "I've made you run around in the rain. I didn't mean to do that to you."

"We'll go back to the pawnshop in the morning. Right now, let's find a place to sleep," he suggests, wiping her cold cheeks. Clearing away water, maybe tears.

Today isn't a proud day. 

_Let the moon be shy and hazy in the clouds._

At the inn they're told by a brown-haired woman with deeply yellow teeth that they couldn't afford two beds for two nights. "You'll have to take something smaller," she rasps, eyeing them suspiciously. Len hates the way her gaze feels on his skin.

"That's fine," he says, half listening and half breaking into little sharp pieces in his own head. "We'll take anything."

She leads them to a room the size of a closet, with a twin-size bed, a table, and a chair. The sheets are so stained that Len hardly recognizes that they're meant to be white, not beige. Same for the walls, which their hostess assures, "aren't thin at all. Many things happen in here that simply don't reach someone's ears. It's a real shame, sometimes."

"I see," is all he can say.

Len wonders if the lone spider on the table is dead or not. _Dead,_ he decides when The innkeeper presses the candle holder down on its unfortunate little body.

"We serve breakfast at seven o'clock. For your sake I hope you aren't picky eaters." 

"No, ma'am—" After she slams the door, the two of them stand there, feeling strangely hollow and a little bit damp. The candle is surprisingly strong.

"Well, when are you going to bed?" Len asks, his throat stinging from the question alone.

Miku blinks at him. "When are _you_ going to bed?"

"...I'm just going to use the chair."

"No you're not, you're sick."

"It's fine."

"I disagree."

"This isn't an argument worth having." After all, he'd only conceded to renting a room because he thought it might help them feel better.

"Then get in the bed," she orders. 

He's taken aback. Miku's voice generally isn't as firm as this. And she's never looked angry _,_ but this expression, this head-on glare, it's the most aggressive she's been.

" _You_ get in."

"Then—let's both get in."

He bawks, feeling as if someone has set his face on fire. "Th-that's way worse!"

She untucks the sheets and fluffs the tragic excuse for a pillow. "You said anyone can survive a cold, so...I'll be fine if I catch it."

"You know that's not the problem here."

"If it can't kill us and we both fit under the blanket, there is no problem," she shoots back.

"Don't be stupid!" It hurts to raise his voice even this much. He wonders if that woman was telling the truth, about these grimy walls. "Even in our situation, we need _some_ propriety here."

"Last I checked, losing your temper over sleeping arrangements is highly improper," she snaps. Then she says something scathing, once again: "I know about the nightmares, Len. I'd have to be even dumber than you think in order to miss them. So it's not worth hiding."

His stomach flips. He hates having to say it out loud. He can't even bring himself to look at her when the words pass from his lips. "Why doesn't it bother you? Why are you so... _comfortable_ around a guy like me?"

"What does that even mean _?_ " She huffs, pulling off her little knitted coat and kicking off the thin shoes. "Where else am I meant to be comfortable, if not with you?"

An unbearable heat rushes through his neck and his ears and his face. He really shouldn't be shocked by what she says— it's true that they've been isolated together, leaning on one another—but here he is, startled to a point where he's trembling a bit.

Oh, wait, that's the fever. He's truly unwell, isn't he. 

He lies down with a grimace and his arms folded. A stale scent rises up from the sheet and cocoons him.

Then Miku sits on the edge, carefully, but the bed still creaks in agony. Then there is a blanket over him.

It's funny. This bed is lumpy and cramped.

The ceiling above their heads is a total void. If they talk into it, will their voices get lost?

"See? This is better," she says, and her voice isn't lost, and that eases him a little bit.

He sniffs. "Everything is the same except I'm on my back." And as close to the edge as humanly possible. 

Miku smiles, though the expression isn't quite matched in her eyes. They're lovely, he notices, less aqua and more dark emerald by the candle light. "We can do shifts if you really want to. I'll wake you up in a little while."

Len can barely process her words. "I know you're lying."

She sets her head down on the pillow, focusing intently on his face. "Yes, sir. On my side."

_What an awful pun._

He can't bear to look at her this close right now. Turning away, he whispers, "Stay back. You might catch what I have." More of a hellish squeal comes from the wooden frame.

Miku's voice is a million miles away, and buried in his thoughts at the same time. "It's alright, Len. I can watch out for you, at least."

_If you're all I can afford to care for, I'll care as deeply as possible._

He'll be watching out for her next, like usual. He doesn't have the presence of mind to wonder about when that will be.

As he closes his eyes, he sees the very same darkness he's hated all along, but he feels so warm, with a soft, careful hand on his cheek, so he's alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I'm back. I've been uncomfortable with my drawings as of late and I think I might stop adding my art to the chapters. Would anyone be too upset if I stopped adding art altogether...?


	7. brief intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some thoughts!

My list of artistic sins:

1\. Putting a no-name teenage peasant in solid metal armor, which is fiscally and physically impractical even if it fits so nicely with the knightly image I had in my head.

2\. Putting the literal queen in the most nondescript and inexpensive-looking scrap of cloth i could think of.

3\. Depriving her majesty of her left ear.

4\. Giving them oddly western and atemporal clothing that makes their designs less memorable than Queen Miku.

But honestly, I'm happy with how this looks because I'm loving the style _._ I'm _s_ orry if you hate it. I've been having such a hard time with art style because all along I've been trying _so hard_ to mimic someone, but for once I examined my natural artistic impulses, and the things that come naturally to me, look the cutest in my eyes.

I've been struggling these past couple weeks, so this revelation was such a mood booster. I wanted to share it since it made me so happy. I hope you realize something that boosts your mood in the coming week, too.

Next chapter in a week or less (since it's already written, I'm just editing it now), see you then!


End file.
